Frobisher mumbled something in reply. It came to him suddenly that he was older than he ought to be, that his nerve was no longer what it once had been. He called to mind the many brilliant knaves who had from time to time stepped jauntily into a witness-box contemptuous of the inferiority of the cross-questioner, and who had an hour later tottered from the court a broken man. How much did this little keen-eyed man know? he asked himself. He would have given half his fortune to be quite clear on that point. But he could not answer the question satisfactorily.
"Nothing could have been gained by that course," he said.
"And you want the court to believe that?" Counsel cried. "Here were you with something like a correct solution in your mind and you keep silence. When did you buy the Cardinal Moth?"
"It was on the night of the Streatham tragedy," Frobisher admitted.
"Indeed! Was the man you purchased that plant from a stranger to you?"
"No. On the contrary, I have known him for years. He was with me the night before as well."
"Worse and worse," Counsel protested. "Tell me, Sir Clement, have you ever made an attempt to raid the Cardinal Moth in person or in conjunction with others?"
"I laid a plot to get possession of it," Frobisher admitted coolly enough. He felt that he could afford to be cynical and frank on this point. "But my plans miscarried. The plant was divided into three portions. One was lost sight of, in America, I fancy; the other was lost at Stamboul, where I came very near to losing my life as well. And the third plant was burned at Turin."
"Was that by accident or design?"
"Design, doubtless. The hotel was deliberately set on fire."